


There is an unspeakable dawn in happy old age

by j_gabrielle



Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Banter, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, Office Sex, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-23 21:42:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19159552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_gabrielle/pseuds/j_gabrielle
Summary: Perhaps it would have been better to wait until they were alone in the privacy of their room, but Valery has never been good at denying himself and Boris, in turn, has learnt that he is weak to Valery's kisses and the way he says, "Please?"





	There is an unspeakable dawn in happy old age

**Author's Note:**

> This was the product of my brain going, 'old men fucking on official documents, y/y?' :>

"Careful, careful... Careful!"

Valery can't help it. He smothers his laughter against the meat of Boris' shoulder. His fingers twitch, carding through dark silver damp strands. "Not funny, Valera," Boris murmurs, nipping the shell of his ear. "Stop laughing!"

"Sh!"

"It's not as if they don't know what we get up to when we're alone," Boris pulls back far enough to splay his hand on the base of Valery's bare throat. There's a twinkle of mischief in his eyes that is in contrast to the stern, world worn worry he normally carries, and Valery thinks, in some hopeless, lovelorn part of him, that he would give the world just to keep Boris happy and content. Just like this.

He himself is naked from the waist down; shirt unbuttoned and baring his wife beater, trousers and underwear hanging from a calf, shoes lost into the dark reaches under the table. Boris is still dressed, but his shirt is untucked and ruined, tie half-done and sweat dark, thrown over a shoulder. Perhaps it would have been better to wait until they were alone in the privacy of their room, but Valery has never been good at denying himself and Boris, in turn, has learnt that he is weak to Valery's kisses and the way he says, "Please?"

"Hello," He smiles.

Boris turns his head to brush his lips to Valery's wrist in worshipful devotion. "Hello."

His ankles slips on the sweat of Boris' skin, and he has to readjust his hold. The movement rolls his hips up, and rubs both their cocks together. Valery gasps, the back of his eyes star busting with the unexpected pleasure. Boris groans, falling forward and bracing himself on his forearms. Their mouths find each other in wet, messy, desperate motions. Valery thinks he must've whimpered, must have made a sound, but everything pales in comparison to the weight of Boris on him. A strong grip wraps itself around both of them, slowly jerking them off. Valery thinks he dies a little, just then.

"Boria... Boria, my love," He slurs, sobbing on a breath. Licking his lips, he thrusts his hips, chasing the friction of Boris, Boris, Boris. "I'm... I think-- I can't--"

"I've got you. I've got you, I promise, I'm here, just let go."

And he does. 

Valery blacks out, falling off the precipice. He is dimly aware of the way Boris' grunts speeds up, the motion of his hands stuttering before stilling altogether when he comes on him. He blinks up at the ceiling, holding on to Boris, catching his breath. There's a deep twinge in his hips that he knows he will have to pay for later. He really should've just sucked Boris off, after all.

"I think my arse is on Gorbachev's face," Valery says quietly.

Boris shakes his head, huffing wetly against the column of his throat. "You're impossible."

"Yes," Valery says slowly. "But I'm the one with my arse on Gorbachev's face."

Boris chuckles as he lets go of them, carefully, with deliberate gentleness, rights them both. Valery cannot help the grimace on his face when Boris untucks his legs from his hips, and sets him on his feet. "I'm fine, I'm fine," He waves Boris' concerned hands away. He makes cursory swipes at the mess on his belly.

"We're old," Boris hums, kissing the side of his head. 

"That we are," Valery sighs, relaxing into Boris, looking back down to where he'd just been laid out on; the table's documents are all strewn pushed out onto the floor and crumpled. And just like he had said, his arse was where Gorbachev's face is.  

**Author's Note:**

> I have never, will never, allow any reposting or translations of my works without my permission. All of my works will and shall only be hosted on my personal accounts on AO3 (j_gabrielle), Dreamwidth (j_gabrielle) and Tumblr (randomingoftherandomness, hardheartshere).
> 
> For those who say that I never said anything, it is clearly stated on my AO3 profile bio.
> 
> I do not have a Twitter account.
> 
> I do not have a Wattpad account.
> 
> **Please Do Not Repost My Fics**


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